


Thinking of Sin

by 7_wonders



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse, Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: AHS/Chilling Adventures of Sabrina, Crossover, F/M, Lupercalia, y'already know what it is!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-23 20:56:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18709828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7_wonders/pseuds/7_wonders
Summary: Michael, having fully embraced his title as Antichrist and heir to the throne of Hell, invites you to join him as his father’s church, the Church of Night, celebrates one of their most sacred holidays: Lupercalia, the festival of passion. (a Chilling Adventures of Sabrina au!)





	Thinking of Sin

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write something for Lupercalia literally since I saw the second part of CAOS. What better way to write it than inserting everyone's favorite Antichrist? If you enjoyed this, I'd greatly appreciate if you would leave a kudos or a comment. Thanks!  
> Smut (because of course) ahead!

The small, 50’s-style diner is decorated with all varieties of traditional Valentine’s Day symbols: hearts and Cupids and bows and arrows, all in hues ranging from the blushiest of pinks to the deepest of reds. The fluorescent lighting, which normally washes patrons out, only serves to make the man sitting across from you look even more sculpted. He smirks when he catches you staring again, hooking his foot around your calf playfully from under the table.

Although a roadside diner might not be an obvious choice for a date, anything is better than yet another date spent on the grounds of the Hawthorne School, where Michael currently studies magic. The teachers are all extremely strict about their star pupil, which means that Michael usually sneaks you in in order to spend time with you. Today is different, however, with a prelude for some magical holiday warranting an early weekend for the students. While you don’t possess any magical abilities, it’s not at all difficult to skip a couple of classes on a Friday, allowing you a last-minute date with Michael.

“It’s so easy to tell when you’re not listening to me.” Michael teases, long fingers drumming on the table. “If you’re not staring at me, then it’s the far-away look in your eyes.”

“Who can blame me for not being able to focus when I have someone as beautiful as you sitting across from me?” You relish in the light blush that paints his cheeks, Michael obviously not being used to you turning the tables and complimenting him suddenly.

“ _Anyways_ , where did you zone out at?”

“Hmm, right after you started explaining why you get an early weekend. Lupus column or something?” Michael snickers, sipping his strawberry milkshake to avoid laughing loudly in the quiet diner.

“ _Lupercalia_.” He corrects.

“Lupercalia, then. What exactly is Lupercalia?”

“Well, it’s an ancient festival, originally started by Roman witches and warlocks. It was instituted as a way to purify Rome and bring about health and fertility. It’s a very sacred holiday for us-”

“Even though you’re not just an average warlock.” You interrupt, winking conspiratorially.

You figured out Michael’s ‘secret’ pretty quickly after you saw Ms. Mead convulsing in the driveway next to yours. Not knowing that she was now a robot and was shorting out, you had assumed the woman was having a heart attack. When Michael had opened the door to your incessant knocking and you had barged in with the unconscious woman, the pentagram and vague smell of sulfur made you ~~a little~~ extremely suspicious. It was the sight of Michael being covered in blood that made you demand for him to tell you what was going on, or else you would call the police and have them investigate.

“Yes, even though I’m not an ‘average warlock,’” he agrees, “it’s still a sacred holiday for the witches and warlocks who worship my father.”

Being the Antichrist guarantees that Michael is treated like a prince at Hawthorne, which is directly ruled by the Church of Night. Michael’s treated like a prince at most of the ‘witchy’ places he takes you to, something that you’re still getting used to.

“I’m guessing it’s not like Valentine’s Day, though?”

“Not exactly. The Church, as you know, directly follows my father’s teachings. These include giving into your wants and desires, especially those of the…carnal nature.”

“The carnal nature? Oh! Ohhh…” Heat quickly rises to your cheeks, avoiding eye contact while Michael chuckles. “So it’s like a sex festival?” Your voice drops at the word ‘sex,’ even though there’s nobody within hearing range.

“Well nobody calls it that, but sort of.”

“What do you, uh, do to celebrate?”

“The festival’s made up of three different events. There’s the Matching, where witches dance with ribbons around what’s basically a Maypole and are paired with a random warlock once the music stops. After that is the Courting, where the couples participate in a ritual to ensure health and wellness. The last event is called the Hunt, where the witches hunt their warlocks. Once caught, they…” Michael’s voice breaks as he grimaces, making your eyes widen as you quickly realize what he means.

“Is this a mandatory holiday? Like, the underage witches and warlocks do it too?”

“No! No, it’s not mandatory, and nobody under the age of sixteen can participate.”

“So…you’ve participated in it before?” Although Michael’s always been deliberately vague on how old he truly is, you know that he’s at least 20, if not older. That means, considering he’s the heir to the throne of Hell, he’s probably been involved in his father’s festivals and holidays. It makes you mildly jealous to imagine him participating in something like this with a pretty, powerful witch.

“I haven’t. Last year was my first at Hawthorne, and I was still just trying to get the hang of being at a new school. I wasn’t sure if I would participate this year, which is why I wanted to ask you.”

“Michael, I’m not your mom. If you want my permission to be a part of Lupercalia, you really don’t need it.” You grumble, snatching a stray french fry from your plate and eating it to avoid showing that this bugs you. Since it’s Michael you’re sitting across from, though, he automatically knows.

“I was going to ask if you’d participate in Lupercalia with me, (Y/N).”

“Oh.” You avert your eyes, embarrassed at how blatantly jealous you got. “I thought you said the pairing-up of the witches and warlocks was random?”

“Leave that to me.” His eyes twinkle, and you just know that he’s going to use some sort of magic to rig the festival if you agree.

“Well, what about the fact that I’m a ‘mortal?’ I thought that the Church didn’t like mortals intermingling with you guys.”

“One, you’re not just a regular mortal, you’re _my_ mortal.” To increase the sentiment, he reaches across the table and grips your hand in his. “And two, I’m not just a regular warlock. They sort of have to let me do what I want.”

“Bullying your teachers into letting you bring your mortal girlfriend to a dirty magical festival? You truly are your father’s son.” You joke.

“You’re stalling.” It’s not a question; you and he both know that you’re stalling. It’s not like you and Michael haven’t had sex before, but encroaching on this sacred festival that’s also extremely intimate makes you feel very hesitant.

“Promise we’ll get paired up?”

“Of course. Does that mean you’ll do it?”

Sighing, you nod. “Yes, I’ll do it.”

You defeatedly sit back in your seat, grabbing your own milkshake and taking a hearty drink while Michael grins. Even though you’re pouting, you can’t deny the tiny butterflies of excitement starting to spring up in your stomach. You’re jumping headfirst into a world that’s dark, supernatural, and a little sexy. Who couldn’t be slightly excited for that?

* * *

##  **_Night One: The Matching_ **

* * *

The Matching, which you assumed would be at Hawthorne, is actually at Hawthorne’s ‘sister school,’ the Academy of Unseen Arts. Michael had easily transmuted both of you to what had first appeared to be an abandoned train depot. Apparently, the old adage of “never judge a book by its’ cover” applies to buildings as well. The moment you stepped foot inside, you were taken aback by the large, gothic-style school. The walls are all a rich red, with a golden railing encircling the second level that overlooks the entryway. A giant statue of what you’re assuming is Satan is pushed to the back, a large Maypole with red, black, and white ribbons taking center stage. Witches and warlocks mill about, all bowing their heads respectfully whenever they pass Michael and speaking in hushed tones while sneaking glances at him.

You cling tightly to Michael, free hand tightly grasping the hem of your black dress that’s accented with white flowers. All of these witches are so dark and beautiful, looking at Michael from under their heavily-painted lids. You can practically feel the power oozing off of them, sending chills down your spine. Michael has a protective arm around your waist, sensing how nervous you are. In an effort to distract yourself while the host school gets everything set up, you glance up towards the ceiling.

The stained glass windows that act as a sun-roof are beautiful, but the longer you look at them, the more you can see the Satanic imagery that makes up a larger story. There’s flames, stakes, the goat-headed figure of Satan, and magic. There’s also a man with bright blue eyes and golden curls, standing amongst one set of flames while someone who looks almost like you ( _if you’re squinting hard enough, you try to convince yourself_ ) stands at the man’s side. Casting your eyes slightly downwards, the teachers from the various schools and academies stand on the second floor. Michael’s professors were not exactly pleased that he was bringing his mortal girlfriend, but Father Blackwood, the so-called ‘High Priest’ of the Church, was more than welcoming.

“He has to be,” Michael had explained to you, “or else I’ll report back to my father. Blackwood’s on thin-enough ice as it is.”

When Michael stiffens beside you, you look away from the teachers and towards him.

“What’s wrong?” You’ve been with Michael long enough to know that something has to be extremely wrong for him to even have a reaction like this.

“Sabrina Spellman is what’s wrong.” You look in the direction that Michael’s glowering, only to see a small blonde girl chatting with her friends.

“She doesn’t look very threatening.” You tease, hoping to diffuse the situation.

“Sabrina fled her dark baptism and abandoned the Church, while still trying to keep her powers. She fights Satan at every turn and is convinced that she’ll ‘take him down,’ whatever that means.” Michael says lowly, clenching his jaw.

“So, not your friend, got it.” You mutter.

You’re both startled by someone yelling for the men to take their places. A ring of chairs has been placed around the Maypole, backs facing the ribbons. Michael grabs the ribbon attached to the chair closest to him, unlooping it and handing the white fabric to you before he takes a seat. Your hands are still interlocked, and he smiles reassuringly at you while the same person starts giving directions.

“Alright ladies, you know the rules! When the music stops, take a seat on the warlock…or Antichrist…” he stops as everyone giggles, making you look at Michael with panicked eyes, “closest to you.”

“I’ve got it all under control, remember? Enjoy yourself.” He reminds you one last time, rubbing his thumb over the ring on your right index finger; an onyx band with blue and white stones forming starry constellations, given to you by Michael for your birthday.

The music starts up, the violinist playing a folksy tune. Michael grins at you one last time before you start moving in the same direction as the rest of the women. You don’t know this dance, and even if you did, there’s no way you’d look nearly as graceful as everyone else. Still, you try your hardest to copy the moves of the witch next to you, a redhead that has her eyes dead-set on Sabrina Spellman. Michael turns his head to watch you dance, smiling the entire time as you start to get the hang of things. It’s not that long of a song, you realize as the violinist plays one last, long note, and your heart thunders when you see that you’re all the way across the room from Michael.

He can sense your trepidation, winking at you before coughing into the crook of his elbow. The note continues to echo through the room, much to the confusion of the man no longer playing the instrument. The same tone continues to play until you’re right in front of Michael, stopping the moment he coughs again. You nearly fall into his lap, laying your forehead against his gratefully.

“Told you I had it all under control.” You giggle at his cocky statement, relishing in the feeling of his lips on yours.

“I didn’t doubt you for one second.”

“Yeah right, I could practically taste your fear when you thought the last note was being played.”

“Because I didn’t know what you were planning on doing!” You argue playfully, not able to fight the large smile working onto your face.

“Was this as terrible as you thought it would be?” Michael asks, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Considering I ended up with you as my match, I’d say yes.”

“You brat!” Michael’s eyes gleam as he grabs your lower lip between his teeth and pulls, eliciting a squeal from you.

You’re not sure if it’s the sensuality of the festival itself, the intoxication that happens whenever you’re around someone whom you share feelings for, or if there was an actual spell being performed during that dance, but every couple in the room is currently engaged in various levels of PDA. And really, you can’t complain, since your gorgeous Antichrist is right under you.

* * *

##  **_Night Two: The Courting_ **

* * *

Silver light from the near-full moon peeks out between the gnarled tree branches forming a canopy above your head, bathing the group of teens and young adults in a soft light. It’s chilly out, a fog floating low towards the ground the only remaining sign that there was previously rain. You can still smell it, a fresh scent mixed in with the earthy smell that’s so prevalent in a forest. Breathing out through your mouth, you watch as your breath forms visibly in front of you. Michael’s arm is wrapped around your shoulder, the sight of his red leather gloves coupled with his black leather trench coat sending your heart racing. Your overcoat isn’t nearly as nice, but then again you didn’t expect to be making a fashion statement in the middle of the woods.

When Michael had told you that ‘the Courting’ was a ritual for health and wellness, you didn’t envision it taking place in a dark forest. That’s really your own fault, though, since nothing can ever just be normal when it comes to witches and warlocks (and a stray Antichrist).

“Witches, warlocks, Antichrist, and mortal,” the same man who played the violin at the Matching says, not even bothering to hide his smirk, “congratulations, you have been matched.”

Michael glances at you the same time that you look at him, both of you rolling your eyes at how clever this man thinks that he is.

“Tonight, you and your paramour shall go into the woods and re-enact the Courting. What that means is that each couple shall go into the woods and disrobe and anoint themselves and lie under this blessed Lupercalian moon, absorbing the potency of the Goddess Selene herself.”

Although Michael had explained to you that participants still kept their undergarments on, the idea of taking off any layer of clothing in this weather is not too appealing.

“Anoint ourselves with what?” You whisper to Michael.

“Patience is a virtuous skill, (Y/N).”

“And you’re one to lecture me on virtues.” You fire back, snickering when Michael lightly pinches your arm.

“Abstinence is encouraged….” The warlock emcee is interrupted by a chorus of boos from the people surrounding you, “…in anticipation of the powerful release that concludes Lupercalia.”

Michael looks at you when you stifle a laugh, winking at the innuendo.

“However, should couples be moved to _unite_ , well, I’m sure the Dark Lord would not oppose.”

“Glad we have your dad’s unholy blessing to get it on tonight.” You mutter, making Michael bite his lip to keep from laughing.

“Like that’s ever stopped us before.” He retorts, burying his face in your hair to hide his blush.

A beautiful dark-skinned girl with bleached, cropped hair produces baskets from behind a tree. You can’t see what’s under the blanket that tops each basket, but you can hear something clanking around inside.

“The milk and blood are for the purification, the oysters and figs are for fertility and virility. The cherries are for…popping.” The girl says, leaning in close to Sabrina Spellman in what you assume is a way to tease her.

“A word or two of caution.” Father Blackwood steps forward. “Each couple must stay together the entire night, and, above all, do not stray from the path. All manner of lust-filled creatures stalk the woods during the Lupercalia. Now, with the Dark Lord’s blessing, let the Courting begin.”

A long, low note sounds from a horn, spurring the couples to all start moving down the path. Michael grabs your hand in his, and you can feel the chill of the cool leather through your own knitted glove.

“I can’t believe that this is how I die. From knowingly and willingly going into a scene that’s the beginning of a horror movie.” You lament, letting Michael lead you behind all of the others.

“We’re not going to die, (Y/N), don’t be so dramatic.”

“Are you kidding me? Imagine this as the synopsis: ‘A group of young adults jaunt off into various parts of the forest in order to participate in a carnal ritual, that is, if they can get past all of the hungry beasts that lurk just out of their eyesight.’” You say dramatically.

“How did you manage to successfully make a festival of passion into a horror movie?”

“It’s pretty easy when the material’s right in front of me.”

The deeper Michael leads you into the woods, the warmer it gets. Soon, you’re tugging off your gloves and unbuttoning your coat in an attempt to cool down.

“How is it suddenly so warm?” You wonder.

“The magic of the Lupercalian moon. The further into nature we get, the more potent the moon is.” He finds a clearing among the trees just off of the path, deeming it acceptable enough to set the basket down.

“So if you don’t want to have sex, the ever-rising temperature is still gonna force you to take your clothes off.” You grab the blanket out of the picnic basket, the bottles and other items knocking against each other. Unfolding it, you lay it on top of the earth, Michael straightening the other end out.

“It’s just a way for _everybody_ to be able to fully enjoy Lupercalia, even if it is in the middle of February.” Michael unpacks the bottles, as well as two knives.

“What are the knives for?”

“We don’t actually cut ourselves, it’s just an easy way to get the anointing oils onto ourselves. You use the flat edge of the blade.” He explains, standing up once he’s satisfied.

The red gloves come off first, Michael removing them one finger at a time. After shrugging off his coat, he looks at you expectantly.

“Are you going to take your clothes off as well?”

“Oh, right!” You blush, letting your coat fall to the forest floor as Michael looks on with a wide grin.

After taking your clothes off, you’re left standing in your matching bra and panties (black, of course, just like everything when it involves witches and warlocks), and Michael in only his boxers. Although this is definitely not the first time that Michael’s seen you like this, you still avert your eyes and cross your arms over your chest in shyness. Michael’s skin almost glows under the light of the moon, his eyes looking nearly luminous while he reaches down to grab the first part of the ritual. Dipping a knife in the bottle of blood, he hands it to you before repeating the action for his own knife.

“Do you remember what to say?” He asks, not at all shocked when you shake your head. “‘By Lilith’s blood,’ okay?”

Twirling the knife in your hand, you grip the cool, ridged handle of the weapon that you’re supposed to use to sensually drag blood across your boyfriend’s forehead. You glance at him, waiting for him to nod before lifting the knife.

“By Lilith’s blood.” You recite, Michael breathing in deeply as the blood makes contact with his skin.

“By Lucifer’s love.” Michael lifts his own knife, and you wrinkle your nose as blood is applied to your forehead.

“Can I ask you a question?” You and Michael both sink to your knees, Michael dabbing a cloth with the provided milk.

“Of course.”

“Is the Lilith in the myths real? Like…Satan’s concubine and all that? The mother of demons?” Michael grimaces, rolling his eyes quickly.

“Basically, yes.”

“So is she sort of like your step-mom?”

“My father and Lilith aren’t married, (Y/N).” You giggle as Michael wipes the wet cloth across your forehead. “Good, keep laughing. We’re supposed to laugh during this part of the ritual.”

“Why?”

“I honestly have no clue.” You can’t stop laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation and the conversation, Michael handing you the cloth once he’s done. “But yes, you could say that she’s technically my stepmother.”

“But you’ve never met her.”

“No, not at all. Not that I’m complaining, though. I’d rather meet my father.” Michael laughs when you cross your eyes and stick your tongue out at him, taking the opportunity to wipe the blood off of him.

“Do you think you’ll get to meet him one day?” He’s never really talked about his ‘true’ family before, and the only time he’s ever mentioned the parents who were a part of his infernal conception was when you got him so drunk on Mike’s Hard Lemonades (who would have thought so-called ‘bitch beers’ would make the Antichrist a weepy drunk?) that he ended up setting his own hair on fire.

“I hope so. Here, eat.” He holds a fig up to your mouth, and you grimace while taking a bite of it.

“Eugh, that’s probably the grossest part of this whole thing.”

“But wait, there’s oysters too.” Michael eats the rest of the fig, winking while you shoot him a horrified look.

You just want to get eating an oyster over with, so you reach over and grab one. Taking a deep breath, you plug your nose before tossing your head back and swallowing it down like a shot. Shuddering, you stick your tongue out as the slimy texture forces you to choke back a gag. Michael knocks back the oyster far easier than you did, only slightly grimacing and pulling a face.

“So what do we do now?” You ask.

“We lay next to each other and soak up the light of the moon.”

“Now _that’s_ something I can get behind.” Michael grips your hand, tugging you down on top of him easily.

You roll off of Michael, still not letting go of his hand. Looking up at the moon, your eyes widen at just how big and bright it is. You’ve never quite seen anything like it, and if it weren’t for Michael’s laughter you wouldn’t tear yourself away from the sight.

“What?”

“I’m just…extremely lucky to have you.” You let your head fall to the side, grinning at Michael.

“I’m lucky to have you, too.” He leans over and kisses you softly, the sounds of wind rustling through the trees and owls calling out to one another forming a symphony above your heads.

Sleep claims both of you before you can even think about progressing to anything beyond lazy kissing. When you wake up, the gray light of dawn paints the forest in a new light, one that’s much colder than it was last night. At some point during the night, Michael draped his large coat over your bodies, which is greatly appreciated right now. Michael sits up and runs a hand through his hair, cringing at the tangles.

“I’ve never seen your hair so out of place before.” You tease.

“This will be the last time you see it like this.” He warns, standing up and finding his clothes from where they were thrown last night.

“Sorry we fell asleep before either of us were ‘moved’ to unite.” You quote, catching the sweater Michael tosses your way with ease.

“That just means tonight is going to be even better.” Your heart jumps at the reminder, causing Michael to look up when he hears. “Are you nervous?”

“No, I just don’t know what to expect!  Seeing as how each ritual has just gotten more and more strange, I’m assuming that this one’s is going to be wild.” Michael smirks, helping you stand and wrapping you in your coat.

“Hmm, guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

“I guess so.”

* * *

##  **_Night Three: The Hunt_ **

* * *

Your earlier suspicions were dead-on; not only are you back in the same area of the woods that are now lit with a bunch of torches, but you’re also wearing nothing but a white satin slip and a pair of black stockings under a red cape that makes you look like Little Red Riding Hood. A bright red lip completes the look, as it does for all the witches around you. For the first time since Lupercalia started, you don’t feel entirely out of place surrounded by all these mystical women. You’re all dressed the same, and you’re all here to participate in Lupercalia. Tonight, you have far more important things to worry about than judgmental witches.

When you first found Michael, your knees nearly gave out on the spot. He’s shirtless, wearing only a pair of black jeans and a wolf’s pelt. The head of the pelt hangs over his forehead, acting as a sort of hat. He looks wild, uninhibited, and utterly happy; it makes your heart melt to see him so carefree. He couldn’t even stifle his grin when he had grabbed you to kiss you in greeting, too excited for the events to come to worry about keeping up the stern Antichrist demeanor.

“Welcome to the final night of the Lupercalia!” Ambrose (yes, you’ve finally learned his name) yells. “Hoods hunt wolves, witches hunt warlocks. The outcome of the Hunt shall determine the year ahead. Will it be bountiful or barren? Fruitful or fallow? Tonight, we hunt and are hunted, releasing our blessed magicks into the night. Warlocks, are you ready?”

The warlocks all howl and cheer in response, Michael included. The closer it gets to the start of the Hunt, the more excited you find yourself. Maybe the rituals of Lupercalia actually work, or maybe it’s just the fact that you haven’t slept with Michael in days and he looks particularly delicious in a wolf’s pelt.

Ambrose plays a long note on the same horn as last night, sending the warlocks running into the woods. You giggle as Michael darts off, pushing past the other men in an attempt to get as much of a head start as possible. Although it may not be a formal competition, Michael will always find a way to make some aspect of what he’s doing competitive.

“And witches, are you ready?” The women all around you yell, and you join them. When Ambrose plays another note, you dart off.

The woods are more disorienting than you remember them being last night. The fog makes it impossible for you to see more than thirty feet ahead of you, and the wolf heads all look the same from the back. Witches and warlocks sprint all around you, finding their partner and tackling them to the ground. You’re mildly impressed at how voracious some of these people are, going at it right on the ground and in the open. Your lungs burn as you continue to run further into the forest, hoping that soon the pack will thin out and you’ll be able to find Michael by the process of elimination.

You only stop when a stitch in your side forms, bending over and placing your hands on your knees while you try to catch a breath. There’s nobody around, everybody having already been reunited, and you can’t stop the disappointment that you feel. If you were a witch, surely this would have been much easier, you think to yourself. Standing up straight again, you start to walk back in the direction that you came from when a force grabs you by the shoulders and slams you back against a tree.

You shriek breathlessly, panic gripping you until the eyes staring at you register as Michael’s. His eyes glimmer with lust and excitement, and he bites his lip while smiling widely. You roll your eyes and lightly slap his chest, hand lingering on the firm pec.

“Did I scare you?” His voice comes out raspy, and you have to stop yourself from letting your eyes roll back in your head.

“I thought I was supposed to be the one who found you.”

“Hmm, I got bored waiting around.”

Leaning the weight of his body against yours, Michael traps you in place while he kisses you deeply. You throw your arms around his shoulders, the fur of the wolf pelt tickling your arms. His large, calloused hand grabs the cool skin of your upper thigh, hiking your leg up around his waist. You’re sure that the rough bark of the tree is leaving scratches even through the thick material of the cloak you’re wearing, but that’s honestly the last thing on your mind right now.

“You look so sexy tonight.” Michael gasps out, only removing his lips far enough to be able to breathe. “You look sexy all the time, but you know what I mean. The red lipstick is a really good look on you.”

“Yeah? You think so?” Your heart skips a beat; Michael compliments you all the time, but usually on the emotional traits you possess: how smart you are, how strong, how funny. He often compliments your physical appearance too, but with sweet words like ‘beautiful’ and ‘gorgeous’ and ‘stunning.’ If any other person were to refer to you as ‘sexy,’ you’d knock their teeth in. Michael’s use of the word, however, has your heart racing and blood pumping.

Michael nods eagerly, head falling to your collarbone as he sucks and bites the skin there.

“Absolutely. I always knew you’d look dangerous in a cloak, but this is beyond my wildest fantasies.”

“On that note, you should consider keeping the wolf’s pelt.” Michael raises an eyebrow at you before growling playfully, making you giggle loudly.

Those giggles quickly turn to a groan when Michael rips open your white slip, the soft fabric tearing easily under his grip. Your nipples immediately harden from the cool night air while you lift your hips away from the tree, allowing the now-ruined lingerie to pool around your ankles. The thin panties you’re wearing do nothing to hide your arousal, and Michael’s nostrils flare as his supernatural senses pick up on the heady scent.

The powers of this Lupercalian moon were hardly exaggerated. You can practically feel the magic of the light that you and Michael are being bathed in. It heightens everything you’re feeling, as well as acting as an aphrodisiac of sorts. In this moment, you’ve never wanted Michael more than you do now, and your legs are almost sticky with the arousal that’s starting to track down your thighs. He looks to be in the same state right now, eyes blown wide with lust and prominent bulge digging against your lower stomach.

Your hands go up to the silver clasps on your cloak, stopped when one of Michael’s large hands grips both of your wrists.

“Leave the rest on.” He says lowly, causing you to gasp as intense want curls in your stomach.

“Michael, I need you.”

Michael sinks to his knees in front of you, ghosting his lips down your body the entire way before hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties and tugging them down your legs. He can’t stop himself from licking his lips at the sight of your pussy, swollen and glistening right in front of him. The moment his hot breath hits your core, your hands lock into his hair in an attempt to stay upright as your knees buckle.

He immediately dives in, sucking and licking at your cunt like it’s his last meal. The sensation immediately sends shockwaves through your body that not even the jolt of pain from throwing your head back and smacking it against the tree bark can diminish. Michael wraps his hands around your thighs, hoisting you further up with preternatural strength. The heels you’re wearing dig into Michael’s shoulders, but if it bothers him he isn’t showing it.

Michael’s nails digging into your skin is the only thing keeping you grounded as his tongue draws shapes against your clit, stopping every so often so Michael can suck harshly on it. You’re a whimpering mess above him, legs shaking from the exertion of being held up off of the ground. He pulls away from you momentarily, licking your arousal off of his face while he surveys you to see just how close you are.

“What do you want, baby? Wanna cum in my mouth first, or do you want me inside you?”

You think for a moment. Although the idea of a near-instant release and gratification is tempting, you can’t deny the throbbing from your pussy that makes you want to be completely and utterly filled to the brim with Michael. The man in question, who has been listening to your inner dialogue the entire time, smirks when your lust-drunk brain comes to a decision. He keeps his grip on your legs as he stands again, wrapping them around his waist for you. Your ankles cross over one another, locking him in your grip. Michael doesn’t even bother to get undressed all of the way, pulling down his trousers and underwear just enough to free his cock.

You swoon at the sight of it, thick and veiny, already flushed red and dripping precum at the tip. His cock is one of your favorite things, and if both of you weren’t so desperate you’d fall to your knees and return the favor. He enters you as quickly as he can without hurting you, groaning loudly as your walls flutter around him while you adjust to his familiar size. Your hands, needing to find purchase on something, snake their way under Michael’s pelt and dig into the skin on his back.

He kisses you deeply, tongues tangling together while he starts slowly thrusting in and out of you. Your body rocks up and down against the tree, working your hair into knots and wearing down parts of the cloak that you’re still wearing. You pull away from his lips only to fill your burning lungs with air, but by then Michael’s moved on to the smooth expanse of your neck, sucking bruises onto the clean canvas of your skin.

Michael is truly a sight to behold as his thrusts increase in speed, hitting deep right where you need him. His hair sticks damply to his forehead, the golden curls only looking more like a halo as they’re backlit by the moon. When his eyes focus on you again after being rolled in the back of his head, there’s only a thin blue ring surrounding the blown-out pupils. His lips are fuller than normal, swollen and red from the constant pressure being placed there by your own lips. His muscles ripple under the skin, trying to keep up with the brutal pace that he’s set. The sheer beauty of Michael Langdon would have Greek gods and goddesses weeping in both envy and want; Donatello and Michelangelo could only dream of sculpting something as perfect as him.

You cry out, hips snapping up in an attempt to match Michael’s thrusts. Your legs, which are already wrapped tightly around his torso, attempt to pull him in even closer. If that was even possible, you’re not sure there’s enough of you for him to fill. You can hear yourself speaking broken sentences, but you’re not sure if the words don’t make sense because your brain is too clouded or if you’re just so far gone that you can’t form actual words.

“Michael, I–please-” Your uneven breathing cuts you off, but Michael nods in understanding. He’s close too, thrusts becoming shaky and more erratic as he nears the edge of his own peak.

Your cunt clenches around him, making him groan lowly as he attempts to thrust deeper. The attempt works, and you can feel the fat head of his cock brushing against the the innermost, spongy part of your walls that has you releasing a sound that’s a cross between a moan and a scream. Michael doesn’t stop there, reaching a hand in between your connected bodies so he can rub harsh circles on your clit. There’s enough lubrication there, whether it be sweat or arousal, that your clit is already slick enough for him to easily manipulate.

It’s only a matter of time before you’re cumming with a shout, limbs seizing as the electricity of your orgasm runs through you. Your head swims, eyesight blurred from the intense pleasure as you try to watch Michael. You can feel him throbbing inside of you, eyebrows furrowed together and mouth shaped like an ‘O’ while he teeters on the verge of his own orgasm. You regain control of your body just enough to moan his name, purposefully clenching around him and allowing him to fall over the edge of ecstasy.

The sensation of his warm release coating your walls sends aftershocks through you, tightening your arms around Michael while he continues to ride out his orgasm with his head buried against your chest. When you’re both completely spent he pulls out of you, wrapping his arms under your ass while he lowers you both to the ground. The beautiful red cloak spreads out underneath you enough for both of you to lay on, neither of you caring about getting dirty.

“Y’know,” Michael says breathlessly, still spent from your previous activities, “I do believe that this is the best holiday I’ve ever participated in.”

“Ambrose was right when he said this was a blessed Lupercalian moon.” Michael hums from beside you, neither of you bothering to put any effort into actually moving your heads to look at each other.

“A blessed Lupercalia, indeed.”


End file.
